


A Soft Place to Land

by rizzo (europeansoul)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sad Phil, Toast, crap now i want fluff on toast, it's mostly just phil, there's your warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/europeansoul/pseuds/rizzo
Summary: The toast is crunchy, the marmalade sweet, and the kitchen is silent.





	A Soft Place to Land

**Author's Note:**

> I've been outta the fic game for a strong 8 years now, but somehow Phil having marmalade at 4am pulled me back in. Wanted to see where I'm at with writing these days and it turned out to be a nice little therapy sesh for myself (and fic!Phil).
> 
> Thanks to alittledizzy for being an improptu beta. :') You da best.
> 
> If tumblr's your thing, you can follow me at europeansoul.

Phil’s eyes follow the moonlight filtering in through heavy bedroom curtains. It’s making its way across the pale wooden floor, coming to an end just where it traces Dan under the duvet next to him. His breathing is soft: a slow, easy rhythm that, on any other night, would lull Phil back to sleep. He glances at a silver clock on the wall, where he can just make out the shadow of 4am.

Bad news rarely hits him this hard. The occasional rejection email is a necessary evil in their particular field and usually he can reason his way out of most anything else, but tonight was different. A phone call had left him anxiety-ridden all evening, with sleep a mess of distorted shadows and dizzying half-dreams.

He decides it isn’t worth a second attempt and cautiously pulls himself out of bed. Most noise is unlikely to wake Dan at this point, but he’s not taking the risk.

Minutes later and glasses securely on, Phil squints into the bright light of their refrigerator. He finds comfort in a slice of warm whole-grain toast slathered in marmalade and the sound of boiling water ready to be stirred into instant decaf. The couch and its accompanying TV are enticing, but there’s nothing he’d want to watch without Dan. So he stands in the kitchen, staring at the droplets of warm water quietly racing to the bottom of a cooling kettle.

The toast is crunchy, the marmalade sweet, and the kitchen is silent. For the first time in hours, his mind is at rest.

A half-hour passes this way. Phil’s eyes glazed over until the last bite of toast is gone and his mug is empty. He considers a clock for the kitchen. (His parents had one when he was young and midnight snacks were accompanied by a soothing tick.) He picks up the crumbs on the counter with the pads of his fingers. He listens to the wind rustle trees just outside the window. He breathes.

Stomach and heart a little fuller, Phil pads back into the bedroom and eases his way under the covers. He wraps a careful arm around Dan’s middle and lets his eyes close.

* * *

“You stink.”

“Mm?” Phil shifts under the duvet.

“I wanted to wake you up with a kiss but your breath is rank.”

He can feel Dan’s face inches from his own and puckers his lips. “Do it anyway.”

“There’s gunk on your lip.”

“It’s marmalade.”

Dan makes a noise halfway between exasperation and disgust.

“You can lick it off,” Phil chuckles, finally letting his eyes open to a blurry vision of curly hair and a furrowed brow.

“Brush your teeth. You’re gross.” Dan says matter of factly, dropping a quick peck on his lips, before lifting himself out of bed. 

Phil watches him cross the room, lick his bottom lip and pause at the door. “And don’t mope in bed all morning. I’m making toast.”


End file.
